2013.07.11 - Timely Punishment
Shanghai, China Frank Castle is not nearly as well known in the Orient as he might be in America, which is a good enough excuse for the former Marine to use it as a 'rest' stop between major operations. Everyone needs safe haven, even the Punisher... So where would a killer go to disappear? Shanghai, of course. The dirty streets devoured anything that came here.. people disappeared and are never seen again.. and violence is everywhere. It's the perfect place for him and the worst possible place for him to go.. It was all of two hours before he'd caught wind of a Chinese Triad group with ties back to New York's human trafficing rings. Another few hours before he was able to arm himself with a pair of pistols.. and thirty minutes to get suited up for what he was going to do. Walking down the streets with rain pelting his leather jacket and soaking through his dark hair to roll rivlets through the creases between his eyes and off the tip of his nose as he approached a laundry mat several blocks away. This is not a forgiving part of the world. Domino finds herself here once again, this time entirely not by choice. In short order she's been pressed into working for two different sources, both without pay, then been completely cast adrift with nowhere to go, barely any equipment, one powerful entity that wants her to leave the country, another that wants her to stay, and the Chinese authorities wanting to lay their hands on her over past crimes she hadn't quite been lucky enough to escape. It should be just another day in paradise. Now with the rain pelting the city below she walks briskly down a narrow street, hunched inside of a heavy black leather trench, trying to meet up with a less than ideal contact about securing herself safe passage out of the country and back to the States. Unfortunately for her, someone along the line of communication decided to speak out to the wrong person at the wrong time. They know she's here, they know where to find her. All her luck that the Triad's behind it. Frank stepped through puddles soaking into the half concrete half dirt path he walked through the veins of Shanghai. Both hands shoved deep into the pockets of his heavy coat as he neared the target he had spent the last sixteen hours scouting, taking stock of who comes and goes, guard positions and which locals were on the take. He knew that one of the shop owners was working with the Triad, either for money or out of fear and he knew that there was at least seven armed men in the back rooms of the laundry mat. He wasn't able to get as much intel as he'd could hope for. They were moving something big tonight. He'd gathered as much from one of their couriers only a few hours ago. The man didn't hold up under questioning very well... especially not while being dangled over the edge of a seven story apartment building by a rope and pully. Castle watched the trucks pull into the loading docks to take in their stock of clean towels for some of the industrial complexes surrounding the inner city. Leaning against foul smelling open window eatery with a stick of something that probably consisted of at least part dog. The owner shouting at him in Mandarian until he pays him the desired amount in converted bills. Another few minutes while the guard tails moved further down the street to take up defensive positions while the trucks are being loaded. There's something about being in the right place at the right time... It isn't Domino this time. It's the truck. As it starts to back into position there's a momentary reflection off of one of its sideview mirrors, twisted out of alignment from an earlier collision somewhere along its path. In that flash of time she gets a clear image of what's behind her. Of the men that were tailing her, skilled enough in their trade that between her own problems and the storm that she hadn't caught them any earlier. She catches them now, and just in time. With the truck providing a useful obstacle they decide to make their move, two men walking in tandem and both reaching for their sidearms of choice. The twitch is in the back of her shoulders before she has a chance to think about it coming into play, that sudden spike of neurons and adrenaline which kicks her muscles into overdrive, dictating her motions before her brain can figure out what it is that she's doing. Rain slicks away from her coat ash she spins about, crouches, rolls across her shoulders, and opens fire with two pistols of her own. Ten millimeter. A caliber which had never existed in this country. She had been trying to avoid a situation like this. Fate has once again forced her hand. In a flash this street has turned into a live fire zone. Frank was moving into position himself. Using the trucks in the same way as the Traid tailing Domino to cover his approach. The second of them pulled close to the little eatery and he jumped up onto the tailgate with one smooth motion, then up onto the roof, keeping him out of view of the driver and the guards positioned to either side of the loading dock. Laying flat on his back with the rain pelting down onto his ballistics vest and face, both hands go inside his coat and come out with a pair of HK 45s. Frank never left anything to chance. He had always told his men, 'Luck is just where preparations meets opertunity'. It is a mantra he lived by... but some things are outside his scope to determine and some variables can never be 'planned' for. Like when the streets errupt with the sound of 10mm fire. This certainly draws his attention, but it also draws the attention of the guards he'd come here to kill... Moving away from the truck and turning their backs on the man come here to punish them. His elbow pushes him off one side of the trucks roof and he comes down shooting. The first volley catching them largely off guard and therefore dead to rights. Two men crumple into a puddle of blood soaked water and Frank is already moving to the high stone lift for cover. More gunfire. From the wrong direction... Not the sharp crack of the nine millimeter which Domino is expecting. This is something..much bigger. And from the wrong direction. One attacker down. The other was smart enough to take some evasive action, survival instinct gets to be important in this city. An attack of opportunity pegs the albino in the side, stopped dead by the armored skin hiding beneath her coat but not before the energy of its flight could be delivered nearly in full just beneath her ribs. It's a close hit, but nothing's broken. Without enough cover Dom runs with the first choice on the menu, one arm sweeping out to the side to return fire while the other darts out in front of herself, shots slamming through the laundromat's front window. The shooting only stops long enough to cover her head and dive through the weakened glass, splintering it into dozens of blade-sharp fragments that crash upon the grimy tile floor beyond. That's twice within so few seconds that her armor keeps her in one piece. That's where her good fortune ends. The building's occupants had fair warning that trouble has come to their operation. Now they're armed, and not caught nearly as off-guard as the foreign woman is. "Ah..hi!" Frank slips one of the Beretta's back into a holster and leans out the side of the small concrete divide to return fire with precise aim on a pair of bolsterous Triad thugs who think this is some two bit attack on their operation. They pay for that mistake; one of them taking two bullets in the chest and the other with one straight through the throat. The Punisher moves quickly, scooping up the AK dropped by the first guard he put down and rolls up onto the loading dock, smoothly kicking in the wooden door and unloading the entire clip right into the room where Domino just dove. If they were unsurprised to see her, they're certainly regreting not paying attention to the rest of the complex now. His back presses up against the outside wall of the doorway, AK tossed away and pistols coming back out. It's all in the timing. A room full of Triad thugs, all bearing weapons down upon where Domino landed in a crouch. Once again there's incoming fire, from the wrong direction. Just when she's expecting to be in a world of hurt, her mind frantically calculating the odds and finding the best spot of cover against attack from either direction, the opposition directly in front of her gets mowed down by the legendary room sweeping chatter of a Kalashnikov. Dust, debris, and gore paint the laundromat's interior, soon followed by a discarded assault rifle. Dom's already found somewhere better to hide herself, using the moment as best she could. Keep those guns topped off, they always have a habit of running dry before you want them to. "So are you the cavalry?" she calls out in the eerie silence that follows. That, too, doesn't last long as another window explodes in a rain of glass. More shooters out in the street, now working to cover the front of the shop. "Points for timing!" she yells out before returning another volley of fire out into the street. "Extra credit for accuracy!" Frank waits a two count once he's swept the room and moves in tactically, both hands gripping his pistol in a close guarded position that uses his turning body to point it in whichever direciton he looks. He leaves nothing to chance, clearing both corners and dropping down behind a bit of cover himself once he's at least confident that the triad inside wont be giving the pair of them any trouble. The weapon comes up so he can check the clip and is quickly tossed away in favor of a fresh one dispite still having three bullets, then pushed into its holster in favor of a HK SMG hanging from what's left of one of the triad he just vaporized in a hail of gunfire. "No." He says in answer, tilting his head to oneside and point the SMG in Domino's general direction. He might even go about shooting at her, if it weren't for the sudden attack from the front of the building raining glass all around them. Frank doesn't get all panicy during the onslaught, he lays his SMG down, pulls the second pistol and reloads it, slips it back in it's holster and takes the bigger gun up. Only once they've stopped shooting does he lean up over the edge of the counter and rattle off return shots, mostly to act as surpression fire and keep them from sweeping in to surround them. "They'll bring in bigger guns soon." He says as calmly as 'it's raining out'. "Triad aren't hurting for old Russian stock." Glancing around, "Think you can get up on the roof?" Pointing out one of the windows at the brackets attaching a storm drain to the wall. Call it professional courtesy, but Domino's got one of her guns angled toward the direction of the newcomer, as well. Like she has the slightest idea who that is! The one word of response tells her plenty, however. It's a man, older, sounds American, calm tone says of heavy experience, and definitely not here to assist her. He's got his own business, which she's interfering with. Tough. As the saying goes, she was here first. Still, the odds of bumping into someone like this here and now... "Thanks for clearing that up." With the observation that follows she's quick to mutter a "Yeah, no shit" to herself, though pale blue eyes are quick to look out the window to the drainpipe beyond. (The roof? This guy had better have a chopper waiting up there...) "Only if you keep their heads down. Give me fifteen and I'll return the favor." Good plan? Great plan. Two matte black pistols get driven back into Kydex holsters beneath her arms, then she's on the move for higher ground. Getting back outside is easy enough, all of the windows are shot out. Catch the pipe, hand over hand, maybe she's not as devoted at Parkour as some of the newer kids in this game but she still knows how to get things done in a hurry. The response he receives is one of the reasons Frank hasn't ever taken on a partner. Instead of engaging in a catty game of back and forth he simply grunts and nods towards the window, not really bothering with the pleasantries of good lucks and may the force be with you. It really doesn't suit him. And he's gathering it doesn't suit her either. Once Domino is heading up the drain pipe, The Punisher reaches behind his back and pulls out a tennis ball heavily wrapped in duct tape and stands up to hurl it out through the broken windows at the gathering Triad members.. It isn't exactly a stick of C-4, but if one packs a tennis ball with enough strike anywhere matches and assures there's no space for the 'explosion' to go... one can make a serious mess of anything that half stick of TNT hits when. In this case, it's a Chinese thug's chest. Parts of him fly in every direction, creating just the sort of a panic a skilled killer would need in the ranks to cause a little extra mayham. With the HK stock unfolded and nestled snuggly in his shoulder, Frank creeps forward in a bursting tactical approach on the front of the store. 'tat-tat-tat', 'tat-tat-tat', three down. Sixteen or so more to go. They're starting to put together the 'big gun' he mentioned out there... though they're having to take a break from attaching the .50 to the back of a pickup truck in favor of taking cover when their mates start blowing up and getting riddled with bullets. Diving down behind the very vehicle their attaching the gun to get out of LoS of the laundry mats windows. (And a grunt back to you, kiddo.) Back in the cold, miserable rain Domino goes, though she doesn't have much time to think about the miserable weather or how much she hates this city. Not far away there's an explosion, sending a heated shockwave and a fine mist out across the street, herself included. "Alright, I like his style," she says to herself while rolling out onto the roof and going for her own guns once more. The building's clunky old air conditioner isn't the best for cover but it's better than nothing, the merc diving for cover before coming back around and identifying their current targets. Many down. Plenty more to go. It's a killing field out there. One which she aims to contribute to without adding herself to the numbers. And that other guy... Bird's-eye view. There's something on his chest. A calling card, of sorts. One that she knows. (Hah, fancy those odds.) "Mark!" Compensated black pistols ring out in alternating, bone-jarring harmony, pelting dirt and pavement, drilling through automotive bodywork, shredding glass, punching through flesh. (They've got a fifty?! When the Hell did that get here! Put the pieces together, girl. Something's not right here.) Once more she ducks back behind cover, staying low, barely flinching as an incoming shot clips clean through the AC unit as she reloads two smoking pistols. (There's thirty-two more shots down the drain... Can't keep doing this, Dom.) Frank's shoulders press against the inside edge of the door leading out to the front of the store, bullets ripping into that wall all around him. But he's got darkness working on his side inside the building while they're back lit by glowing orange street lights that have all but ruined their night vision... if they even had it to begin with. They may be Triad, but they're not professional soldiers. Just another class of thugs that needs punishing, no matter what kind of weapons they're packing. Frank eats people like this for breakfast. When Domino lays several of them low and pushes the others back behind cover, the Punisher sweeps out from cover and runs forward with his weapon up in his shoulder. He doesn't have a shot, but he still throws a few bullets over the top of those vehicles to keep Chinese heads down while he approaches cover a bit closer to the window. Slumping down behind one of the large washing machines, another of the tennis balls comes out. He rolls it between his fingers while they saturate the building with more gunfire, absently counting the number of different weapons being fired and calculating their proximity to one another as best he can without visual confirmation. At the first break in the stream of lead, he comes up and tosses the ball out the window and 'bounces it' off the back of the truck. It's not nearly powerful enough to do much to the truck or the weapon they're attaching to it, but it sure does do a number on the mean putting it together. One of them loses a hand another part of his face. Back down, turning the SMG over to check the clip and ultimately tossing it away in favor of one of his pistols. All very calm, controlled, and with a sickeningly smooth professionalism that borders on ocd. Maybe a little OCD runs in the profession? Domino's got some of her own, though hers is more about keeping her gear clean and organized. It's a shame that all of her proper cleaning supplies are on the other side of the globe. Lots of people. Probably twice that in ordnance. Everyone's bringing something special to this party, and some taking things to the next level. She can tell from the direction of the shots which ones are coming from the Punisher's end, though they sure seem to be changing frequently. At least someone here was properly prepared for this dance! Maybe she'll have to raid another one of Cheng's safehouses. He wouldn't know it was her, right? Heh. Yeah, sure. Her own options are running slightly thin. True she carries a scary amount of ammo for her primary weapons but even that's a finite amount, and it has to see her all the way to China's borders. So far that's not working out so great. Blades are less effective at this range, explosives..she's refusing to use for this guy. Besides, he brought his own. "Work smarter, not harder." Awning. BLAM-BLAM! Chains snapped, heavy canvas and gallons of collected rainwater dump onto a small cluster of injured thugs. Old business sign. Another shot shears enough rusted bolts to bring it down onto another Triad man's foot with a heavy Crunch. Back to cover she goes, the AC unit losing a few more critical pieces from return fire. This might actually be fun if she didn't have so much riding on it all. "How we doing down there?" she calls out, scouting another source for cover. Next rooftop over, approximately twenty-five feet. She can make it. Just wait for another tennis ball. They're not looking like they'll be getting that heavy weapon assembled, if Frank has anything to say about it. While he's waiting out the return fire from the remaining triad and the attacks from above him that send some of them scrambling away, the Punisher slips out of his trench coat and tosses it out of his way. Up onto his feet with his knees bent and his gun gripped in one hand running out along the washing machine where he's sure he just heard footsteps just on the otherside of a side door along the laundry mat. They'll have to try hard to catch him slipping. They really don't know who they're messing with. The door opens and bullets tear into them before it has even had a chance to fully open, sending up dust and a spray of blood when the pair that were coming in to flank him hit the dirty floor of the side room. "Peachy." He shouts back, moving towards that side room with the gun up and extended out in both hands. Nearing it, he leans out just enough to put a bullet in the third goon he'd heard coming in and slides the pistol away to free his hands up. One AK is slung over his shoulder and another is taken up to press into his shoulder on approach to a side window. They're looking in one direction and this time the tennis ball comes flying from another, hitting the ground near one of those 'bicycle' carrages. Shreading the thug near it and sending it end over ending into another pair of them. It wont kill those two, but the bullets he puts into them help hurry that along. And now he's out in the street, crouching behind a beat up old car with his back pressed up into the wheel well. (This guy must really enjoy his work, or--no. There's no life in his replies, this isn't something he's doing for fun. It's the Punisher, Domino, he's doing it out of a sense of obligation. Different sort of upbringing. So maybe I should be having more fun.) There's the pitch. She's up and sprinting across the roof, the attack of opportunity drawing a few more out of hiding a second before the improvised explosive can further level the playing field. In that same instant she's leaping across to the next building over, twisting through the air like a cat that's lost its sense of which way down is and uloading another volley upon the decimated street below. Land, roll, cover. Noise. Someone else got the bright idea to head for the rooftops in pursuit. The burst from his SMG pelts the area where Dom's head had been an instant before. Now she's sprawled out on her back, one gun taking him in the chest and the other covering the space behind her. (And that's how we rearm.) Now she's got another weapon. "Hey, how's about we end this before they decide to throw a few more dozen our way!" She's going to take her own advice, regardless. One SMG, a few extra mags, open rooftops. She's got a perfect shot at fleeing this scene. She's not being paid to be here. She has nothing personal invested. She has a world-class distraction cleaning house at street level. Hell, she's gonna blitz. Bullets tear into the car Frank is hiding behind, but nothing they've got can penetrate the engine block and wheel well, both of which are being used with the kind of cover discipline one can expect from only the Punisher. Still, bits of shrapnel are flying all around him, cutting up his face and bare arms in the process. The space he has to occupy to keep himself from being riddled with bullets is about as finite as Domino's ammunition was before leaping to the next rooftop. But clips are clips. If the five or six remaining Triad had more bullets to throw at him before reloading, they wouldn't have been in the kind of position they're about to be... He stands up slowly, bringing the rifle into the curve of his shoulder and splattering the first of them to get their weapon loaded and pointed at him. Walking across the street with a complete disregard for his own safety, but not so much that he's not using every single bullet in the AK to keep their heads down while he closes the distance. He even holds the trigger down so they can hear the 'click click click' when the mag is empty. A green mistake in every language on every continent. And one Frank measured to give them a false sense of security. One of them leaps over the car he was hiding behind and goes into a very exagerated display of martial arts prowess. Likely believing this is intimidating... and it probably would be to anyone else. The Punisher pulls his pistol and splatters the man's skull like a watermelon in mid 'butterfly kick'. Reholsters the gun and swings the second AK up to keep them down while Domino does whatever she's going to do. Domino is..well. She's watching. From safety, mind. This guy puts on a good show, and she would count on as much with the sort of reputation that he has! The guy's got a history that's every bit as long and colorful as her own. Last she heard he was a wanted criminal, too. There's one more thing they have in common. The difference is, he works with a purpose. She works for cash, favors, and repaying debts of her own. In his book, her name could probably show up without much difficulty. A bad guy that goes after bad guys isn't a good guy, but she goes after everyone. Hell, if she had half a mind to she could just drift the sights a little further to the left and take a shot at the back of his head. He's got a bounty to his name, she's certain of it. It's a fast but careful weighing of the odds which stays her trigger finger. Right now he's worth more to her alive, as a wrecking ball. As scary as it might be to think about, out here this guy is the closest thing that she has to an ally. She's not going to rock that particular boat. Not yet. But, she's also not going to let her guard down around this guy. Ever. With the SMG pinned tightly against her frame she stares down at another Triad coming out of cover, tapping the trigger and blasting his right temple across the back of a minivan. "Now we're even," she says aloud, knowing that no one else would ever hear her words. She still has to get out of this damned country. The triad are, for the most part, down. At least until 'their' calvery shows up... it is tempting to Frank to set up a few surprises for them and stick it out for the long haul. With a defensiable position like the Laundry mat and enough ammunition he could hold this laundry mat for days... at least until they brought in the rockets. And god forbid he ever got his hands on one of those. Seriously, they even left him a .50 cal to set up in the front of the store. They definitely didn't come prepared to fight his kind of fight. The second rifle is pulled off his shoulders and tossed away in favor of one of his pistols, mostly to put down any of the goons playing possum hoping to catch him with his guard down. Also to finish off any one of them that's still alive. Two or three meet that fate. All of them die. Once he's certain he's got at least a few seconds, he glances up at the roof where he's been following Domino's fire... and stares. In his mind, she had a reason to be here. She's probably every bit as guilty as the men he's just killed... On the other hand, she made herself useful. "You probably shouldn't be here when I'm done." He shouts, moving with a purpose towards cover incase she decides to shoot him and give herself as much time as she wants. He's brave, not stupid. No thank yous or good lucks. Not his style. Instead he goes back into the laundry mat, grabs his trench and shakes off the glass before putting it back on... and heads down into the basement to free the 'women' the Triad had been moving in those trucks... Some of them already doped up with heroin, most of them beaten until they're barely recognizable. The Punisher stands at the bottom of the stairs looking over the terrified huddled masses and.. while he does care (Why else would he have done this?) he doesn't have the first ounce of empathy in his face. He doesn't have time for it. It gets in the way. And they will end up running right back to the triad anyways. Human refuse always does. But... "You're free." in broken mandarin. For what it's worth. At least he tried. Category:Log